“Well, I think it’s messy. My tea is my best meal; you know that, Jenny.”
“Yes, ma.”
“I always say it looks mean just to have a few pieces of bread-and-butter put on a plate, with the butter just scraped on so as you can’t see it.”
“Basil likes it like that.”
“In my ’ouse I ’ave things my own way. Don’t begin to give way to your ’usband in the ’ouse, my dear, or he’ll presume on it.”
Basil, coming in at this moment, was introduced to the visitor, and Jenny, rather nervously, watched her to see that she behaved nicely! But Mrs. Bush, though somewhat awed by his reserved manner, took care to show that she was a perfect lady, and when she lifted her cup curled her little finger in the most elegant and approved fashion. Basil, after a few polite remarks, lapsed into silence, and the two women for five minutes talked difficultly of trivial subjects. Then a carriage stopped at their door, and in a minute the maid announced—Mrs. Murray.
“I thought you would allow me to call on you,” she said, holding out her hand to Jenny. “I’m an old friend of your husband.”
Jenny blushed, taken aback, but Basil, delighted to see her, shook hands warmly.
“It’s awfully good of you. You’ve just come in time for tea.”
“I’m simply dying for some.”